


A Marriage of Convenience

by CatsofTzfat



Series: An Honest Woman [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Early MSR, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, F/M, RST, Season/Series 01, Secret Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-05 21:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16375196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsofTzfat/pseuds/CatsofTzfat
Summary: ”Are you familiar with an agent named Fox Mulder?”





	1. Prologue

They decided to keep their last names.

Dana thought it practical. Neither knew each other well, besides finding one another good looking and reasonable. It was a useful and practical deal, with each of them benefiting from the other. Granted Dana had only known this man for two hours when they made the deal, having met at some party several college kids attended. But they agreed this to be all well and good.

He was the one to suggest it. There were tax perks, shared insurance, protection if it came to it-- all in all he made several validating points, which turned into a half hour discussion of the benefits of a sound marriage. She could save money so she could finish paying off student debts, he had the excuse to say to anyone trying to "distract him" that he was a kept man. So, half baked and barely out of medical school, Dana clung to this stranger's arm as they stumbled into the justice hall declaring to say their vows then and there. 

It was just a paper, in her eyes, advantageous and profiting. She said once this was over they didn't have to play house. He agreed all too well, saying she was free to fuck anyone from here to Alaska if she so wished it. She just wanted the money so she could go to Quantico. Her parents would never agree to letting her go, much less help pay for tuition. He just wanted a thicker wall around him so he could bury himself deeper into his mysterious FBI work. _A ring just isn't good enough,_ he told her, _I need proof so they can leave me alone._ Sounded reasonable.

The ceremony was quick, with some nameless woman she didn't know as the witness. There were no pictures, but her new husband pecked her on the cheek and handed her a plastic ring from a child's costume set. It was funny, it made her laugh, causing him to laugh, too. She admitting to thinking he was an attractive man, and he thought she was pretty. They rented a room, consummated the deal in a desperate, fumbling romp on a ratty couch with half of their cloths on. 

When she woke up the next morning, sore and satisfied from a long night, she found herself alone. Beside her on the bed was a slip of paper: a note that read, _"Had a nice time. I wish you well, Scully. Good luck on your senior thesis"_. Below his note was his phone number, his current address, and a bank account number. Holding the paper down was a ring. Not some child's toy, but a real, simple band of gold. 

She wore the ring from then on, the night seared into her memory. She wondered if they would share another night like it. But deep down, she knew it was unlikely she would ever see Fox Mulder again.


	2. Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is dialog from the pilot episode within this chapter. I do not own the X-Files, this is purely for entertainment purposes in which I plan to make zero profit off of.

When Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D. walked into Division Chief Belvins’s office, she was prepared for just about everything. 

What happened, much to her silent and somber dismay, was the one thing she didn’t expect. 

_“Are you familiar with an agent named Fox Mulder?”_

Oh, god. She wanted to groan. Dana knew it wasn’t impossible to not here about her lawful husband when she entered the FBI. She already heard stories about “Spooky Mulder”, having been in the presence to many people praising his work, despite his nature. 

In a way it made her proud to know she was married, technically, to a man as accomplished as Special Agent Mulder. Yet she dared not speak that, since this union was suppose to be secret for as long as possible. So Dana breathed in and smiled, and said she knew him by reputation. 

The rest of the conversation a blur, she found herself marching downstairs with all her might, trying not to let her heart beat out of her chest. She hadn’t seen the man in nearly seven years, only in contact through four phone calls since then, at best, and seeing their shared bank account either drop or raise. 

She wondered if he would recognize her. Hell, she wondered if she could recognize him. They were so young then, barely out of school. 

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the basement office door as she rubbed her wedding ring. Amusingly enough, she had been practically single since that night back in 86’. The ring tended to keep men at bay, but there were several one-night fumbles in the backs of a cars or a bar’s restroom where men didn’t care if she was married or not. 

She had several mixed feelings about that, but at the same time she didn’t want to take the ring off.

“Sorry, no one down here but the FBI’s most unwanted,” came a calm, droning voice from inside. The sides of her mouth twitched upward, but she refused to show too much emotion. Steeling herself, she opened the door.

The room was bathed in a soft, clear light, almost masking the fact that papers and bookshelves and file cabinets and obscure shots of flying saucers covered every corner of the room. On the wall was a poster of a UFO, titled “I WANT TO BELIEVE” in big blocky white letters. What had this man done to get so involved in the X-Files? He was perfectly sane enough seven years ago, but then again, a lot of things can change in seven years. 

He was hunched over a desk, back to her, with rugged hair and a pair of smart glasses perched on his refined nose. When she scrapped her foot on the floor, watching him with each second feeling too long and not long enough, he whipped his head around and met her eyes.

He was silent for a long time. Unable to bare his scrutiny, she said, rather stiffly, “Agent Mulder.”

“Dana Scully,” he said, voice sounding too serious. “Or, should I say, my _wife_?”

She shifted her weight. “I didn’t tell them anything, Agent Mulder,” she said his name, testing it on her tongue, refamiliarizing herself with the syllables. “I’m, uh, actually looking forward to working with you.” At this, she approached him, wondering how on earth she can when they know this potential partnership was against FBI protocol.

They shake. Though he had grown in someway since they met, looking more like a man than a boy, his hands are just the same, if not more callused. “While it’s nice to be suddenly so highly regarded,” he says with a sarcastic smile, dark eyes pinned on her, “don’t you mean you’re here to spy on me?”

If it’s a joke it goes right over her head. “If you have any doubt about my qualifications or credentials…” she begins, but Mulder just smiles.

“If you’re asking me if I know nothing about my wife’s worth then you must have little faith in me,” he says, turning around to grab a file close by. He flips it open, and lists off all the things she’s done since they met. Did he know she was coming? “By the way,” he adds, “I liked your thesis.”

Dana remembers the note very vividly. “Thank you.”

“Rewriting Einstein, Scully. That’s a credential.”

“Thank you,” she says again, because she can’t think of anything intelligent to say back. 

“But, still. Isn’t a little strange that they send my wife down here to spy on me?”

“I haven’t told-“ He shakes his head. 

“Some coincide.” 

She purses her lips. 

“While we are indeed tied in the eyes of the law,” he goes on, rolling to a projector on the opposite side of the room, “you need to know that in my line of work the laws of physics rarely seem to apply.”

The topic of their untraditional marriage dropped once he went on to show her crime scene photos, explaining their strangeness and unexplainable facts. 

“Do you have a theory?” 

“I have plenty of theories, dear,” he says, making her scowl. “Maybe what you explain to me is why it's bureau policy to label these cases as _’unexplained phenomenon’_ and ignore them.” Suddenly he leaned closer, close enough so that she could see the flakes of gold in his coffee-black eyes. She could feel the huff of his breath, and remembers what it was like to have his mouth on her skin. ”Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?” He asked her in a secretive whisper.

“Logically,” she starts, “I would have to say no.”

He just smiles.

“Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed a spacecraft's capabilties th…”

“Coventional wisdom. You know this Oregon female? She's the fourth person in her graduating class to die under mysterious circumstances. Now, when convention and science offer us no answers, might we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?”

She wanted to roll her eyes, but stood her ground and kept eye contact with him. “The girl obviously died of something. If it was natural causes, it's plausible that there was something missed in the post-mortem. If she was murdered, it's plausible there was a sloppy investigation. What I find fantastic is any notion that there are answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there…” she lowered her voice a bit, and leaned in closer. It felt like she was flirting. Flirting with her husband. “You just have to know where to look.”

For a brief, agonizing moment it felt like he would kiss her. Part of her decided that she wouldn’t mind to reaquantence herself with him on a physical level, but her professional side screamed against it. 

“That’s why they put the “I” in “F.B.I.”. So, see you tomorrow morning, Scully. Bright and early.” He pulls away from her, and suddenly she feels like she can breath again. He sits at his desk and leans back, the chair squeaking under him. “We leave for the very plausible state of Oregon at eight A.M.”


	3. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More dialog from the Pilot episode. Again, I do not own The X-Files.
> 
>  
> 
> also i dislike editting my own crap so i'll fix some of the typos tomorrow.

It wasn’t that she was prone to easy frights. It’s just that her definition of “turbulence” isn’t a jarring, stomach-plummeting rumble thousands of feet in the air. 

Dana clutched her seat’s arms, gritting her teeth as she shoots Mulder a look from the corner of her eye. The cabin is filled with fussing, a baby’s earnest cries, and the fretting of stewardesses trying to calm the passengers down. Her “husband”, however, just lies in his spot beside her staring up as if nothing happened. She envied his composure, and tried to make it seem like she was just as unbothered. Yet, truth was, she disliked flying.

“This must be the place,” he commented, turning to her as he sat up. She have a curt nod as she willed herself to unclench. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Mulder’s observant nature is unnerving, but then again he’s suppose to be a top profiler. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said sharply. “Just wish they gave us an earlier warning.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Scully. It’s like a rollercoaster.”

She gave a brief scowl as she collected her papers into a neat pile again. Fox Mulder, while her spouse on paper only, was very different than what she remembered seven years prior. Granted they were both drunk (not to the point of forgetfulness), he was very much a strong believer in the sane sciences. Not this… alien business. It was just ridiculous. What happened to him? She had to wonder. He boosted of being the top of his class back in Oxford (he’d been visiting his home country for a summer break from classes). He was driven, then, and still was to her eyes so far. His direction had just taken a complete 180. Well, she was here to prove that fiction only existed in books and movies.

 _Fiction_ , she mused. She glanced at him again. This whole marriage thing shouldn’t even be called a marriage. They both had gotten what they needed. She no longer needed financial aid. And as far as being single… and being in the X-Files, well, Mulder had quite the negative reputation. 

There was no reason for this ludicrous union to go on. 

Distracted by her thoughts, she cuts her middle finger on one of the newspaper clippings. Hissing, she pressed against the minuscule lesion with her thumb. The man to her left perked up. “Paper cut?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged.

“I got some bandaids,” he said, pulling out one from no where, it seemed. “Am I going to get a gold star, Doc?”

Rolling her eyes, she thanked him and took it from him. While she was an advocate of washing wounds, however small, she couldn’t get up until they landed. She wrapped the bandage around her finger and groaned softly as she saw it was decorated in little UFOs.

~.~.~.~

So far the case was tedious. Mulder, she learned, was now a die-hard believer in the fantastic and wouldn’t listen to a single logical word. They did (she did) discover quite curious evidence. She glanced at the vial at the hotel’s bedside as her autopsy’s recording on Soames’s “body”. She didn’t have a clue as to what it was, but she was sure in the end they would find the answers. They just had to know where to look.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” 

“Steven Spielberg”

She smirked. His humor was a bit of a welcome change since they met. When she opened the door she drank in the sight of him hopping in place, dressed in sweats and a backwards cap. He looked like a child, almost, with a bright hopeful expression on his face. “I’m way too wired. I’m going for a run, you wanna come?”

“Pass,” she said, mostly because she was still trying to plan out a way to ask for a, well, a divorce. Yet she couldn’t help but remember; last time they both were in a hotel room as ratty as this one was the last time she saw him before yesterday. They were both, uh, preoccupied with each other as well. Dana mentally shook herself. Now was not the time. 

“You figure out what that little thing up Ray Soames’ nose is yet?”

“No,” she yawns, “and I’m not losing any sleep over it. Good night, Mulder.”

Before she closes the door he whines, “Come on, Scully, we’re _married_.”

She rolls her eyes as she shuts the door. They had to end this.

~.~.~.~ 

In the morning they visited Raymon County’s State Psychiatric Hospital, ending up in more arguing over the mysterious picture wounds on the Peggy and the victims. He was mad, she decided, but she had to give him credit in that somehow he was able to guess that Peggy had the same marks as the others. Her concern in her sanity, too, was waning grew a bit after their visit to the forest, and the “loss of time”. 

But it was all just crazy. There were no such things as aliens. Even if there were, the travel from here to another inhabited planet was impossible.

She was in the process of writing out part of her report when a loud clap of thunder shook the air. The lights went out, leaving her in the dark with the glow of her laptop. “Great,” she huffed. Knowing it was bad for the eyes to sit in the dark with her computer, she opted to take a shower instead. 

She just didn’t expect the bumps on her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya theres gonna be smut coming up


	4. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, there are lines from the Pilot episode within this chapter, and sexually mature material.

She wasn’t sure what it was that drove her to Mulder’s door, but when he opened up for her, taking in the sight that was her in nothing but a robe and undergarments, she wanted to voice her senseless concerns in earnest. “Hi,” he said awkwardly, holding up a candle. 

“I want you to look at something.”

His eyes widened. From here, she could swear his eyes were black, but next to the candle’s light she saw his irises glow a greenish hazel. “Come on in.”

Without giving him a warning, she stripped off her robe and presented her back to him. The lights from his few candles glowed softy in the dark, bouncing off her pale skin like flames. Telling herself to stay calm, that she was a doctor for Christ’s sake, with a well-deserved FBI badge to flash around all she wanted barely helped her to stay still. With the light press of his fingertips against the tender skin on her lower back made her ask nervously, “What are they?”

He didn’t answer.

“Mulder what are they!?”

His hands rested on her shoulders as he straightened up. “Mosquito bites.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “I got eaten up a lot myself out here—”

Sighing with relief, she fell into his arms and clutched him. 

It was unlike her to be so clingy, especially with whom might as well been a perfect stranger, married or not. Though he felt nice, and it was comforting. He held the candle in one hand, but with his free one patted her head. “You oka—?“

She leaned up and pressed her lips against his.

Dana hadn’t planned it. He hadn’t expected it. When she pulled away as quickly as she came his eyes were wide with surprise. Shaming herself for her impulsiveness, she pulled her robe on and stepped away from him. “Are you okay?” He asked again, this time finishing his sentence without her attacking his lips.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

And she was. She took a deep breath, because this whole absurd ordeal had indeed shaken her. The silliness alone should calm her, but it didn’t. Dana shot a glance at Mulder, and found him hovering beside her. She felt tense and coiled, ready to strike if necessary. In this chaotic state, she came to a impulsive answer to her problem. 

She looked at him again, and licked her lips. “Mulder, I want you to fuck me.”

The look of unabashed shock would’ve sobered her immediately, had this been in any other situation. She, however, didn’t really care about their sticky relationship at the moment. Dana just desired one thing, and that was to feel the heat and weight of a man on hers. 

“Scully, wh—I mean, I’m not the kind of guy to turn down—but, shouldn’t we talk about this?”

She shook her head as she stood up. Without heels she was terribly short standing beside him. But when she placed her hands on his face, he followed her down to bring his face close. His scent, sharp and male and musky, overwhelmed her.

Firm yet pliable lips met hers. Sighing, she parted her mouth and let the tip of her tongue touch his generous bottom lip. He huffed, as if amused, and reciprocated in full. The kiss escalated quickly, despite his earlier hesitance. Mulder grasped her hips as she grabbed his shoulders, both of them waddling in a dance as old as time as they went to the bed. She fell back, but grabbed his shirt as she brought him down with her. 

She landed with a loud exhale, his body falling atop hers like they were honest-to-God meant to be in this position for the rest of their lives. The thought made her smile, so she hid her face in his neck as she worried what would be an impressive hickey into his skin. “Oh, honey,” he groaned as her knee wriggled between his legs. “If you keep doing that this will be over way too quick.”

“What’s wrong?” She chuckled, “Can’t put out like old times?” It was a bad joke, as it jabbed to their frenzied one-night stand. 

“Uh,” he coughed, looking embarrassed. Feeling bad herself (slightly; she was suddenly, absurdly horny as well) she scratched her nails down his sides. “It’s been awhile.”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “Me too. I just want to feel you right now.”

It seemed to placate him enough, and the kissing started right back up. 

Mulder was an inferno, she decided as he rolled onto his side, tugging at her robe. He was so hot, physically and metaphorically. He burned, and he burned, and he burned, consuming all that was around him. He had gobbled her up the night they met, and he was devouring her tonight. She writhed, jerking her pelvis as he thrust up against her, his fat cock pressing into her core. Lord, she wanted him in her. 

And he was. Everywhere, nowhere, and all over, kissing and sucking and flicking his tongue, until she broke into a thousand and one pieces before him. Stretched out and worn to the bone, they sweated and grunted and groaned as he scorched right through her. He was inside of her, suddenly, bare and naked as the day he was born. Like some Greek god, he hovered over her and demanded everything she could possibly give. 

“Scully,” he shouted with her own high pitched screams, hitting that one spot that made her soar to the high heavens. _Yes, yes, yes,_ she felt herself chanting, right before feeling his hardness stiffen inside her, spurting his seed into her cervix and beyond. _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ she thought. 

He was looking at her—unlike before, when all the words between them that night were “thanks for the fuck”. He was looking at her like he was trying to profile her like some criminal. No, like some piece of art he couldn’t understand. 

Uncomfortable, and angry with herself, she pushed against his chest until he pulled out. A hot gush a fluid followed him, spilling onto the sheets and her skin, and furthering the proof of why this was an awful idea. Yet it was her idea.

She should move, wash off the evidence of their union; but she was tired, and his heavy hand on her hip told her he was too. 

And so she found herself splayed out on the covers with him beside her, listening to him talk of a lost sister, hypnosis, aliens. Grief. Determination. Bit by bit, he showed her a small side of him she’d never thought possible.

“Scully,” he whispered against her shoulder, changing the once peaceful tone of his voice. “Scully, we need to talk.”

“No kidding,” she groaned, struggling to sit up and find her robe. 

“We—I can’t let this distract me. My work—it’s too important.” 

“I know. I’ll get the divorce papers in the morning.”

Suddenly his head shot up. His eyebrows up, eyes wide. _“What?”_

“What?” She echoed.

“What do you mean, divorce papers?”

“Mulder,” she began, irritated, “we can’t let this contract go on any longer. It’s a _miracle_ the Bureau doesn’t know about this yet.”

He was sitting up now, unashamed of his nakedness. She tried not to let it distract her. “Scully—we, I mean, don’t you need the financial aid?”

It was a very low blow, but, to blow what, exactly, she didn’t know, and stared at him in confusion. Pulling her robe on, yanking her fingers through her hair, she said, “I’m more than financially capable to care for myself, Agent Mulder.”

“But—“ he fell silent, and stared haplessly into his lap, then at her. Like a switch, his expression changed into one of shrewdness. “Why haven’t you taken the ring off?”

She froze.

It was on her most of the time, feeling like a second skin. She liked to twist it around her finger at times. It looked nice in the sunlight. In the candle light. Bitterness rose in her chest, though, and she lifted her hands to pull it off. The ring didn’t budge past her finger’s middle joint. If he was trying to make a dig at her feelings, he had done so, but refused to give him the satisfaction. Wordlessly, she patted her way into his bathroom and soaped up her hand. Once the band of gold popped off, she threw it on the covers of the bed. He stared at it as if she’d thrown him a dead baby.

“There,” she snapped. “Happy now? I’ll get the papers once this case blows over.”

And then the phone rang, and they were rushing to get dressed and find a dead girl who should’ve been bound in the hospital, and to save another by a boy who was supposed to be a vegetable. 

Thoughts of sex, marriage, divorce, and lost sisters were the last thing on her mind while elbows deep in a case, but it wasn’t forgotten.

She would get the papers, and all this and Agent Fox Mulder would be behind her for good.

TO BE CONTINUED.


End file.
